


Impedimenta Part I

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [23]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 14:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1782502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Impedimenta: plural, n. Baggage and those things that retard progress.  Also see: roadblocks, distractions, politics, and long-lost Jedi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impedimenta Part I

**Author's Note:**

> So, remember when I said I was sick? Back in *March*?
> 
> Yep. I still am. Stupid chronic illness. Never have I looked forward to a doctor's appointment so effing much.

Republic Date 5201: 3/12th  
Tipoca City, Kamino

 

Bail Organa would be the first to admit that his first diplomatic venture as Senior Senator of Alderaan had _not_ gone well. Senator Rotsino had already been familiar with the Kaminoans due to the Rishi Maze’s proximity to Abrion Major, and even she had been taken aback by the Kaminoans’ blatant speciesism.

No matter their personal feelings, the Kaminoans granted their diplomatic guests every conceivable luxury. The individual quarters granted to the delegation branched off like the spokes of a wheel from a central, private lounge, the whole of which took up a significant section of Tipoca City. The rooms he had been given were spacious, as was the attached ’fresher, but after a month and a half, Bail was sick of the unrelenting _white_ of it all. For Reeft, it was far worse—the Dressellian could actually see in the ultraviolet spectrum, and reported to the others that the Kaminoan sense of color coordination left much to be desired.

Bail checked his clothing one more time, made certain that he had all of the day’s pocket detritus, and realized he was dithering. He left his room and found Master Orykan Tamarik and Horace Vancil already waiting in the lounge.

“You know, this is probably our last chance,” Bail said, when he discovered his hands were at his throat, nervously fidgeting with the collar of his robes.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that at all.” Orykan tossed her data reader aside and huffed out a breath. Her hands remained still, but the ends of her bright blue lekku were twitching in time.

Bail hid a smile. “I’d have thought Jedi training would have alleviated that tell.”

“What—oh.” Orykan scowled. “Sometimes all the training in the world doesn’t stop them from the equivalent of finger-tapping.”

Horace stilled his fingers. “My apologies,” the Naboo Senator murmured.

“None needed,” Rotsino said, walking out of the corridor that led to her rooms. “I find it charming that a man of your age can still blush.”

Horace grimaced. Bail noted with amusement that the man’s cheeks were showing the slightest pink flush. “Don’t tell anyone. It’s easier to do my job if it’s assumed I’m simply overheating.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, but don’t think I won’t hold it against you in the Senate,” Rotsino declared.

“Oh, I have no doubt that you will,” Horace returned. “You are a vile harridan and must be stopped.”

Rotsino looked pleased, but the smile on her face faded as she glanced around. “The Prime Minister is expecting us in ten minutes. Where is our junior Jedi representative?”

“He’ll be along. Reeft told me that he might— _might—_ have an idea about those missing cloning tanks,” Horace said. “I did try to comm him a few moments ago, but received no reply.”

Rotsino nodded. “Then I hope that he is both brilliant and timely, else the matter of the tanks will sabotage this meeting.” After weeks of political struggle, haggling, and screamingly slow deliberations, they did have most of a decent agreement hammered out. Lama Su, however, was less than pleased with their inability to find out what had happened to the cloning tanks. Bail was certain that some of their diplomatic slog had been a reflection of that displeasure.

“It would be almost comical if our young Knight-Elect solves another of our major diplomatic hurdles,” Horace said. “His success in challenging the Kaminoan scientific mindset has made me feel unimaginative.”

“He’s making me feel incompetent,” Orykan agreed with a grin.

“I don’t care if we all look and feel like idiots, just as long as one of us solves this disastrous mess,” Rotsino replied, frowning. “As much as I wish to return home, I do _not_ want it to be because of failure.”

They waited until the last possible moment, but Reeft did not arrive. Bail found himself clenching his left fist as they strode down the hall to meet with the Kaminoans. He was certain that Rotsino was correct about this meeting. The Kaminoans drove a damned hard bargain, and the cloning tank theft had been the biggest concession that motivated them to hear out Republic terms in the first place. Without that final bargaining chip, their efforts to get Kamino to join the Republic were going to fail.

The Kaminoans had already gathered when the Republic delegation arrived in the meeting chamber. The room was round, with high ceilings topped by glass, revealing nothing more exciting than darkened skies and endless falling water. Despite Kaminoan claims otherwise, it had rained for their entire visit. Between the white and the wet, Bail had already resolved to go home, turn on all the lights, and look at the most gods-awful combination of colors just to wash his mental palate.

Lama Su greeted them each by name, as usual, but the Kaminoan’s words and gestures seemed stiff. Maybe the Prime Minister was getting just as sick of the sight of them as Bail was of the monochrome environment.

“And how is your former teacher, Master Orykan?” Lama Su asked. “I trust she is still doing well?”

Orykan bowed in response to Lama Su’s inquiry. “Master Tahl is doing as well as can be expected, given the difficulty of her pregnancy. Thank you for asking of her; it’s very kind of you.”

“Mammalian births seem fraught with difficulty,” Ko Sai murmured. “Please send our regards to Master Tahl, and let her know that if her pregnancy fails, we are quite capable of creating a perfect genetic replacement for her lost offspring.”

Bail was getting used to the Kaminoan’s callous disregard for life, but the Chief Scientist’s words still caused him a deep internal cringe. Orykan’s only slip was a slight facial tic. “I do not believe my Master will need to avail you of that service, but I thank you for the offer. It is quite generous.”

“You are most welcome,” Ko Sai replied, oblivious to the impropriety.

The seating pods descended from the ceiling, their prearranged signal that the official part of the meeting was to begin. The Prime Minister’s aide, Taun We, sat next to Rotsino. Bail preferred her company over any of the other Kaminoans he’d worked with so far. While Taun We was just as proud of their cloning and scientific accomplishments, the female Kaminoan had a soothing manner—and she took care not to make the same social blunders that Ko Sai routinely performed.

Halle Burtoni sat to the Prime Minister’s left. Rotsino thought she was the strongest contender for a Senate seat, if the Kaminoans ultimately accepted Republic membership. Bail secretly hoped not; the woman was brash, outspoken, and openly contemptuous of anything not of Kamino origin. Such an attitude would not do her people any favors, especially when their product was already viewed with suspicion. To the Prime Minister’s right was Palau Na, a male who held the highest seat on the Ruling Council and was second only to Lama Su. Palau Na had been the most vocal against Republic membership, but had grudgingly begun to admit that there could be long-term scientific advances to be made from the political alliance.

Everything on Kamino revolved around science and perfection. They were, as a whole, extremely xenophobic, but Force knew they would not be the only xenophobes in the Republic. Reeft’s people, the Dressellians, refused to join the Republic because of their own blatant bigotry.

“Then how did you wind up with the Jedi?” Horace had asked, a few weeks into their mission.

Reeft remained quiet for a moment, giving the question his full consideration before answering. It was a trait that extended to most of the Knight-Elect’s work. Bail thought the man had a hell of a diplomatic career awaiting him; Rotsino agreed. “The Jedi say that they do not believe in luck, but I am not so sure. My parents were very insular, and I was not. On its own, this is not a remarkable trait, but they were exceptional for this among beings that were already known for prejudice. When a Republic survey ship landed, my village as a whole pretended its crew did not exist. I, however, was not about to let this deter me in my quest to ask them for lunch. The fortune was that it was not a Republic surveyor I asked, but the Jedi Knight assigned to accompany them on their mission.”

“I see Padawan Reeft is not in attendance,” Palau Na said, catching Bail’s attention. The Councilor was gazing at the lone empty seat and blinking his large eyes in an approximation of curiosity. “I trust nothing is the matter.”

“I believe he will be along shortly.” Rotsino smiled at Lama Su. “He does not wish for your theft to go unanswered any more than we do.”

Lama Su leaned back in his chair. “So I see. I am most pleased to hear that you have not given up.”

“We gave you our word,” Horace said, maintaining a more neutral expression on his face. Of all of them, the Naboo Senator had become most adept at reading and responding to the Kaminoans. “Our concern for your loss has not faltered.”

“And yet, you expect us to agree to your membership terms with that mystery unsolved,” Burtoni said. She had a smile on her face that even Bail knew was false.

“Of course not,” Bail cut in smoothly. “It would be foolhardy to do so, considering the danger that the theft represents. However, given the length of time both enterprises have taken, we can understand your frustration.”

“And it may be possible to write in new terms to the membership agreement.” Orykan inclined her head when Lama Su turned his attention to her. “We can always stipulate that the search for your missing cloning equipment be extended until the cause is found.”

“And who would confine themselves to such a fruitless search?” Burtoni scoffed. “You?”

“If the Prime Minister wishes,” Orykan agreed, pretending to ignore Burtoni’s narrow-eyed glower at the intentional slight. “But I do not believe the search is fruitless. Do you?”

“Of course it isn’t,” Rotsino said, before Burtoni could flounder. The point was made, regardless, and Lama Su was gazing at his proposed Senate candidate with thoughtful eyes.

“Actually, the search is over,” Reeft said.

Bail turned his head to find the Knight-Elect standing a few meters away, holding a reader in his hand. He bowed to the assembled group. “I apologize for my tardiness, Prime Minister. I believed that the information you wanted was more important than my timely arrival.”

Lama Su smiled. “If you have found the information we seek, then there is no slight to be concerned with.”

Taun We waved her hand, a graceful, unhurried gesture towards the empty pod. “If you would please, Knight-Elect Reeft.”

“Thank you, M’Lady,” Reeft replied, inclining his head in Taun We’s direction. The Kaminoan touched her neck with one finger at receiving the Jedi’s regard.

 _I’ve been here too long,_ Bail thought. _I’ve figured out exactly what type of courtship Taun We is asking for with that gesture._ At least it wasn’t both fingers. He was pretty sure that the Kaminoans were not sexually compatible.

“You have found the evidence we require, yes?” Palau Na asked, giving Reeft a curious look.

“I have,” Reeft said. “May I?” he asked Lama Su, and received a nod. “After all our efforts, it occurred to me that there was one singular avenue we hadn’t yet tried.”

“Get to the point, if you have one,” Burtoni cut in, irritated.

Reeft ignored Burtoni’s antagonism. “I decided to personally confirm the location of every scientist who had access.”

Bail hid a wince. No wonder Reeft hadn’t told anyone of his plans. All previous efforts to speak to the potential Kaminoan witnesses had been neatly side-tracked.

Palau Na reared back in alarm. “You dare to accuse a Kaminoan scientist of stealing our—”

“Patience, Councilor Na,” Taun We said. She did not yell, but there was quelling steel in her voice that Bail had never heard before. _Interesting._

“We…have exhausted all other possibilities,” Ko Sai admitted. “And while we rely on our computers…the Knight-Elect is correct. Data can be corrupted.”

“Continue, please,” Lama Su instructed.

“It was a long list, so I began my work yesterday evening. Of the fifty scientists who had access to that room, and to that equipment, only forty-nine can currently be accounted for,” Reeft said. “My apologies. I know it is hard to believe when such betrayal comes from your own people.”

“Never mind that.” Lama Su gave an irritated wave of his hand. “Who is missing?”

“Orun Wa.”

“He could not have,” Burtoni snapped. “He was still in the system after the theft was discovered.”

“He was still in the computer system, yes,” Reeft agreed. “But on the day of the theft, Orun Wa filed for a transfer from the Baran Wu cloning station to Su Des. He never arrived. Instead, he sent a program to Su Des’s primary database. Any request submitted would return an automatic response that Orun Wa was onsite, working in a private lab. This morning, I traveled to Su Des and personally confirmed that Orun Wa’s supposed lab was empty. He never set foot on Su Des, Prime Minister. Orun Wa stole your cloning equipment.”

“That is not good,” Ko Sai murmured.

“Why is that?” Rotsino asked, her expression gaining the hard edges that denoted hell in a Senate session.

Taun We seemed embarrassed. “You know that we prefer…perfection, in ourselves and in our work,” she said. “Orun Wa is an extremist among beings that your Republic already considers to be extreme.”

 _Oh, fuck me._ Bail exchanged concerned glances with Orykan and Horace. A xenophobic extremist scientist was exactly the sort of ally that Sidious preferred, especially given Jenna Zan Arbor’s recent activities.

“You all believe that a Kaminoan would willingly join your enemy, this…Sith Lord?” Lama Su asked.

“If Orun Wa believed that Sidious was offering him the scientific opportunities that he craved? Most certainly,” Orykan answered.

Burtoni was scowling. “We demand that Orun Wa’s deception be kept private. His actions are that of the individual, not of Kamino as a whole.”

“That may not be possible,” Bail said, when Rotsino nodded at him to speak. “While there are many who are intelligent enough to separate the individual from the whole, there are also many beings who cannot…or will not. If Orun Wa’s involvement with Sidious becomes public knowledge because of _their_ actions, it could reflect badly on Kamino.”

“Especially given that our beautiful work is not always appreciated by the Republic,” Ko Sai said.

The Prime Minister sighed. “Hmm. Then our situation has grown beyond political aspirations. This is now a matter of public perception that could directly affect our business.”

“I’m afraid so,” Reeft said. “I do apologize, Prime Minister. I brought you the truth, but the truth is not always kind.”

Lama Su turned his head to stare at Palau Na. Bail had been told that the Kaminoans were not telepathic, but there were long moments of silence, like these, when he wondered if their abilities had been misjudged.

Palau Na looked away, and Lama Su made a slight _ticking_ sound as he cleared his throat. “We are satisfied as to your terms, but for one problem. Your Republic bans full-body cloning. While you have guaranteed us a means of continuing in our financial successes, the ability to recreate fully functional sentient beings is not something our scientific community is willing to give up.”

“I have been speaking to the Senate Advisory Councils,” Rotsino said, surprising Bail and the rest of the group. “Quietly, as I did not want to give your people false hope. The Republic is willing to grant a concession to Kamino alone, in recognition of your scientific prowess.”

“A concession?” Ko Sai leaned forward in her chair, her eyes blinking quickly in Kaminoan excitement. “What sort of concession?”

“We are prepared to allow you to devote one percent of your current cloning operation to full-body biological recreation,” Rotsino replied. “I know it is far less than you are used to, but after much deliberation it is believed that disallowing you to use the full breadth of your talents will lead to scientific stagnation.”

Ko Sai looked as if she wanted to applaud. “That is _wonderful_ news, more than I expected from your Republic scientific advisors!”

Bail found himself meeting Orykan’s eyes, both of them probably having the same, cynical thought. This was less about science and more about Republic wallets.

“One percent,” Lama Su was musing. “This is acceptable to the scientific community, Ko Sai?”

“It is not the best percentage, but it would enable our research to continue,” Ko Sai returned, her hands waving in the air as she expressed her delight. “And it is so much better than the Republic’s ridiculous ban had led me to hope for.”

“Full autonomy over your own affairs as long as you are conforming to galactic Republic law, an exception granted to you that no one else in the Republic holds, _and_ a financial enterprise just waiting for your hand at the helm?” Horace gave Lama Su a smile, his head cocked carefully to the side in mimicry of one of their more subtle gestures. “There are many Republic members who did not fare so well at the negotiation table, my friend.”

“Apparently not.” Lama Su folded his hands together. “Very well. We must go and speak to the remaining members of the Council, but…we will be accepting your offer of Republic membership.”

Bail bit down on his tongue. _Yes!_ he thought in exhilaration, standing with the others a beat after Lama Su rose from his chair. “That is wonderful news, Prime Minister,” he said in a proper, decorous tone.

“It is indeed,” Rotsino added. “We will begin drawing up the necessary paperwork, Prime Minister. It will be my honor to welcome you into our Republic.”

Lama Su bowed; the delegation bowed in response. The Prime Minister departed, with Palau Na, Ko Sai, and Burtoni at his heels.

Taun We seemed amused by their rush. “It will be my pleasure to escort you back to your quarters,” she said. “I imagine you will wish to contact your Republic at once.”

“We would like to, yes,” Horace replied. “Thank you for your escort. You are most kind.”

Rotsino and Orykan wound up in the lead. Reeft and Horace were next, leaving Bail and Taun We to bring up the rear. The Kaminoans they passed in the halls took in the smile on Taun We’s face and began whispering among themselves.

“You are all masters of silent communication,” Bail noted.

Taun We nodded. The graceful woman was adjusting her gait to walk beside him, something Bail appreciated. The Kaminoans were very fast on their feet when walking at their own pace. “The silent languages stem from the lives we once lived under the waves. We no longer call the water home, but the ability never left us.”

 _Low-grade telepathy_ , Bail surmised. That combined with the subtlety of motion made them adept at communicating in ways most bipedals would never notice. “Given your people’s brilliant ingenuity and skill, it amazes me that Kamino had not joined the Republic before this.”

“To be honest, Senator Organa, we have never before been asked,” Taun We said.

“Really?” Bail shook his head. “I wonder why that is.”

“Some of us believe it was the Republic’s early and consistent dismissal of our potential that has led to so much xenophobia among our people.” Taun We had a faint, thoughtful frown on her face. “But perhaps we are wrong, and our entrenched xenophobia is what kept us from being considered as a member of your Republic.”

Bail grimaced. “I hate to say it, but it’s far more likely that the former is correct. We are doing better now in regards to xenophobia, but there is still far too much humanocentrism in the Republic for my taste.”

Taun We smiled. “Perhaps things will soon change.” She touched her neck with her thumb; for the life of him, Bail had no idea what the gesture meant. “I believe in our people, and the wondrous things we have accomplished…but xenophobia limits our potential because it limits possibility. We will grow in strength and wisdom if we look beyond ourselves.”

Bail halted his steps. Taun We did as well, giving him a curious look. “Taun We, perhaps it is _you_ who should be claiming Kamino’s new Senate seat.”

Taun We blinked and seemed puzzled. “I already have a position in our government, serving Prime Minister Lama Su—”

“It’s wasted on you,” Bail said bluntly. “You also have a grand vision of your people’s potential.”

Taun We demurred. “Councilor Burtoni would be far more suited for such things.”

“Burtoni strikes me as a vicious, vengeful politician,” Bail replied. “Believe me when I say that the Republic already has plenty of those. I would rather have an idealist in the Kaminoan pod, someone who believes in the best of her people.”

“Is…this a political ploy?” Taun We asked. She didn’t seem insulted, just confused.

“No.” Bail shook his head and smiled. “My friend, _this_ is a political ploy: Burtoni is going to be detrimental to Kamino’s interests in the Republic, as I do not see her toning down her own xenophobia when she represents your people. You are about to undertake a business venture that many in the Republic see as being as close to blasphemy as you can get without directly insulting their gods. If your venture is to succeed and the Kaminoan people to thrive, then Burtoni is _not_ a wise choice of representation.”

“I see.” Taun We looked troubled. “I will consider your words, Senator Organa. I…will you excuse me? You have almost arrived at your quarters, and at the least, I should relay your warning to the Prime Minister.”

“As long as he realizes I speak those words because I want only the best for your people,” Bail said, trying to ignore a spike of cold guilt. He hoped he had not just sabotaged the negotiations by speaking his mind.

Taun We gave him a short bow and left without waiting for Bail to return it. When Bail turned towards the others, he found the entire group waiting for him. He quailed; Rotsino in particular had a look in her eyes that he dreaded seeing.

Instead of the chastisement he expected, Rotsino smiled and said, “Well-worded, Senator Organa.”

Bail couldn’t help a relieved sigh. Orykan laughed and slung her arm over his shoulders. “Come on. We’re going to comm the Republic the good news, but _after_ a celebratory drink.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

He awoke to the feel of grit under his cheek. Weight and gravity, pebble and rock—disorientation was so strong that he felt trapped between them.

Blinking dust from his eyes revealed a vision of twisted metal and flame a few meters away, still close enough that the heat of the fire threatened to blister him. His eyes tracked the lines of metal, identifying stabilizer, strut, and control vane: swoop bike. A former swoop bike—no, two bikes. The second fire was another bike, and maybe the pilot, too, if the noise was any indication.

He sat up, gingerly. His mind was slow to awaken. Swoop bikes. Fire. Two bikes.

He could hear sirens approaching. Emergency services, maybe.

Anakin. Rillian.

Venge leapt to his feet and then swore again as his right leg tried to buckle. Ankle was fucked; bones were severed clean across. He remembered a sharp pain from his leg when he’d dropped his bike right into the other swoop’s path, blocking a blaster shot that Rillian had not been prepared to dodge.

Venge frowned while weaving a cocoon of energy around his ankle to support bone and tissue until he had time to deal with it. The swoops had gotten tangled together; the pilot with tattooed black and green bands on his face had pulled out a second blaster. Venge had shoved the man’s hand down so that the blaster discharged…right into the bike’s fuel cells.

 _Oh._ The flaming wreckage was his fault, then.

The first CorSec officer pulled up on what looked like a borrowed racing swoop, considering the non-regulation paintjob. “Sir! Are you all right?” the woman yelled, yanking off her helmet and striding forward. Her CorSec uniform was not enough to disguise a deep spacer’s tan, or the tattoo at her wrist.

Several officers joined the first, landspeeders jerking to a sudden halt at the flaming mess. Medical was on its way, followed by more distant, ground-based support.

Too bad they were all heading in the wrong direction. “I need to borrow your bike.”

“I borrowed it first,” the first officer retorted. She was definitely used to dealing with Corellian Jedi. “You should probably—you’re _bleeding_ —you should probably sit your ass down. Sir.”

Despite the pain, despite the danger he knew the Padawans were in, the officer’s attitude was enough to make him smile. “My students are in danger, and still need assistance.”

“Oh, so they’re the ones leading the merry chase through the rest of Tyrena.” The officer sighed. “Go. Don’t wreck it. I’m the one that has to pay for it if you do.”

“I will buy you a new one,” Venge promised, already halfway to the bike. Every step jarred his ankle and sent ugly twinges of pain up his leg, but he ignored it. One damned problem at a time.

“And don’t forget to come _back_ here!” she shouted as Venge revved the engine back up from stand-by. “You’ve still got a report to file, or I’m going to tell everyone that you stole the damned bike!”

Venge saluted the CorSec officer with two fingers and opened the throttle.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Things had started out, for once, utterly innocent. Anakin and Rillian had arrived that morning on Rillian’s newly minted _Malla Kazza._ Anakin’s Master had seemed…well, less cranky, less prone to destroy half the city if someone twitched in the wrong direction.

The legal swoop course had been too strong a siren call to resist, and for once, nobody was telling Anakin that it was un-Jedi-like to want to race. There were some days when Anakin really liked this second childhood thing.

Rillian was a newbie at piloting a swoop, but she’d been in the simulators at the Temple and had a wealth of stored piloting memory, thanks to the Sharing. With only a little bit of nudging from Anakin, she’d accepted the offer to pilot her own swoop instead of riding pillion. The course just outside of Tyrena was decent—a good mix of easy and difficult terrain, several kliks long—and they charged by the hour instead of by lap.

“You should come with us, Master,” Anakin had said.

Venge’s eyebrows had risen a fraction. “Why in the worlds would I want to do such a thing?”

“Because nobody will be shooting at us,” Anakin replied. “Oh, and if I win, you have to tell me what my other birthday present was, the one that was apparently delayed by fire.”

“What if you lose?”

Anakin lifted one shoulder, trying to be mock-casual. “Then I hand you all my notes on the project I’ve been working on.” It wasn’t really much of a bet. Both were secrets that would be shared soon enough, anyway, but it was less about betting and more about fostering a sense of challenge.

Rillian snorted. [What if _I_ win?]

“Rill, I love you, but you’re not gonna win,” Anakin said with a grin.

[What about you, Master?]

Qui-Gon smiled. “Someone has to watch over the course and ensure that neither of them cheats, Rillian,” he’d said, which made Venge roll his eyes and Anakin cheer, because _challenge accepted._

They were three laps in when a group of new swoop riders rode up and opened fire. Anakin had ducked blaster fire and grimly resolved to keep his mouth shut from then on about anyone shooting at them, ever.

One last survivor was still following them. His Master had dispatched the first and then blew up the second for trying to kill Rillian. Anakin just had to keep evading the other pilot until he figured out how to take him down without causing massive collateral damage.

Anakin gunned the throttle and glanced at an upcoming pylon, a piece of decorative debris on the outer edge of the course. It was leaning at the correct angle, so he wrenched it free of its moorings with the Force. They shot under it as it fell; Rillian tightened her grip around Anakin’s waist and winced as the pillar hit the rocks with a resounding crash. The other pilot scraped through and continued the chase.

“Dammit,” Anakin muttered, scowling as he was forced out onto Tyrena’s streets. People dove aside to get out of the way.

[Wasn’t this supposed to be a normal day?] Rillian howled.

“This _is_ a normal day,” Anakin shouted back as the asshole started taking shots at them again. That was not even remotely okay.

Anakin pulled the swoop up in a hard left roundabout, gaining them height and getting away from the ground-based crowds. For a brief second, they were in spitting distance of their pursuit. He was humanoid, pale skin, no hair. Solid black and green bands were tattooed on his face, stretching up and over his bare scalp. The tattoo-faced pilot was swearing as he tried to match Anakin’s maneuver.

[Fine,] Rillian huffed. Anakin accelerated until the bike gained a disturbing shake and rattle that spoke of shoddy maintenance. [Wasn’t this supposed to be a rest day? A vacation?]

Anakin turned his head and risked a glance behind them. Tattooed Asshole was now about half a klik back, but regaining ground quickly. “Yeah. This is kinda fun, though.”

[He blew up my bike, Skywalker. You had to save me, and then Master Obi-Wan had to save me _again_ while you were still finishing the first save!]

Anakin grinned. “But it _is_ fun, isn’t it?”

[A little bit,] Rillian admitted. [Master Qui-Gon says he is down one strange attacker, and is trying to keep another from killing CorSec officers. How’s Master Obi-Wan?]

“Uh—” Anakin checked on the training bond and smiled. “On his way.”

[As long as he doesn’t blow this one up,] Rillian said. [CorSec might be placated by having someone to arrest.]

“You know what I’m wondering?” Anakin asked. He banked the speeder until they were flying parallel to a strip of windows that covered the lower half of one of the riverside casinos. The glass rippled in their wake but didn’t shatter. Spaceport quality, that.

[What?] Rillian wuffed in alarm at an upcoming band of traffic.

“I’m wondering who the hell these guys are,” Anakin shouted, and listened to his Master’s mental instruction. “I’ve never seen them before!”

The passing airspeeder treated them to a string of shouted curses as Anakin dropped the bike down off the building and flew out over another crowded walkway. Dozens of cameras flashed in their wake. _Maybe CorSec will be able to write off our flight through Tyrena as a publicity stunt,_ Anakin thought, annoyed. _The tourists are certainly treating it that way._ He aimed for a stretch of sand on the opposite side of the river. The bike threw up water as they crossed, spraying jet trails up onto the tourists and eliciting indignant shrieks.

[They look like Bando Gora,] Rillian told him, her howl turning into a startled, high-pitched bark when Venge dropped into their flight path from the opposite direction. Anakin yanked on the yoke and rolled the swoop to the left as Venge rolled right. The swoops passed so close that their stabilizing fins scraped together.

Anakin banked the swoop around just in time to watch Venge use his outstretched arm to clothesline Tattooed Asshole in the chest, knocking him backwards off of his swoop. Venge slammed on the repulsors and the bike came to a wailing halt as machinery protested the swift deceleration.

[I bet that hurt,] Rillian rumbled. Anakin suspected that she didn’t like people shooting at her mid-flight any more than Obi-Wan did.

Venge grabbed Tattooed Asshole by the foot when he tried to escape, and twisted once. The man shrieked like an engine releasing pressure and rolled over to clasp his leg.

Anakin pulled the swoop up alongside them. “Why did you do that?”

Venge was glaring at their new prisoner. “Why should I be the only one to suffer?”

That made Anakin suspicious, but he didn’t think Venge would tolerate an interrogation into his injuries, not when it was something that Obi-Wan barely put up with on a good day. “You look like crap,” he said instead. There was blood smeared across Venge’s face from a cut on his forehead, there were holes in both knees of his trousers, and his tunics were blackened and singed. “Did you blow yourself up, too?”

“A bit,” Venge said, lifting his right leg and placing his boot squarely down on the tattooed guy’s lower back when he tried to crawl away again. “Stay,” he hissed. Tattooed Asshole made a noise that sounded like a combination snarl and whimper.

Master Qui-Gon arrived with a contingent of CorSec officers on landspeeders. “There you all are,” he said, taking in the scene with a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“I’ll be damned. The bike’s in one piece,” said a woman with CorSec’s lieutenant bars on her sleeve. She had brown hair and brown eyes, and looked sort of familiar, though Anakin had no idea why. “Thanks for that, sir Jedi.”

Venge gave her an exaggerated half-bow that practically oozed sarcasm. “You are welcome, Lieutenant. Do you want that report now?”

“Absolutely. I’m Lieutenant Sheffa Solo,” she said, and then backed up three steps when they all turned their heads and stared at her in surprise.

“What?” Sheffa demanded, looking uncomfortable. “You lot look like you’ve just seen a horde of ghosts!”

 _It’s the face_ , Anakin realized. Sheffa Solo looked a lot like her…nephew? Cousin? Little brother? Son? There was no way to know without asking, and even coming from a Jedi, it would be a weird question.

“We are familiar with your family name,” Venge said, an odd look on his face. “Do you know who this is?” he asked, gesturing at Tattooed Asshole.

Sheffa’s expression hardened. “We thought _you_ would know.”

[The tattoos are Bando Gora markings, at least according to Master Tet Wuq,] Rillian mentioned, trying to be helpful.

“Bando Gora?  Those _cultists_? Great,” Sheffa muttered.

The second officer, a young Twi'lek with a sergeant’s patch, looked amazed.  “ _The_ Bando Gora?"

“What did you do to piss off the Bando Gora?” the third officer wanted to know, kneeling on the ground next to the downed cultist.  He had no rank bars on his uniform, just his name (Tybian) which meant he was new to CorSec.

“I would not,” Venge warned, just as Tybian fell back on his ass to avoid a slashing blade. The Bando Gora laughed at the fallen officer until Venge kicked the knife out of his grip and then stomped on his hand. The laugh turned into a gurgling wail.

“I really hate to have to ask you this, but could you please stop injuring the prisoner?” Sheffa sounded pained. “It just means more paperwork.”

“Give me a set of cuffs before there’s an incident,” Qui-Gon said. The Twi’lek tossed him a set of stun-cuffs, and the Bando Gora was bound in short order; he alternated between pained whimpers and rabid cursing.

Venge’s head was tilted, his eyes distant. “Bando Gora…that was the death stick trade, was it not? The short-term alliance with the Hutts?”

“I think so,” Anakin said. “But I’m pretty sure the death stick trade had already devolved into petty drug crime by the time I was twelve.”

“What?” Sheffa gave them a blank look, mirrored by Tybian and the Twi’lek.

“To interpret: We’ve had no dealings with the Bando Gora,” Qui-Gon told her. “If you have no idea why there are Bando Gora present on Corellia, attacking tourists, then we’ll have to ask our new friend, as he is the only survivor.”

“Tourists?” Sheffa repeated in polite disbelief.

“I just wanted to race a swoop bike without getting arrested for it,” Anakin said, plastering on his most innocent expression. It wasn’t all that difficult, since they weren’t actually responsible for today’s mess.

Sheffa nodded, and then gestured for the Jedi to follow her a few meters away from the bound cultist. “Can you Jedi do that thing where you listen to what he’s thinking while I question him? See if he broadcasts any answers?” she asked in a low voice. Anakin decided he liked her, possible relative of Han Solo or not.  Jedi couldn’t get that kind of instant cooperation from even a third of Judicial.

“We can make the attempt,” Qui-Gon said, frowning. “But it seems as if you’re rushing your interrogation process.”

Sheffa’s jaw clenched, her eyes flickering over to the cultist, before she answered them. “The Bando Gora’s influence has been growing at an exponential rate, sir Jedi. As far as the Inner Rim is concerned, they’re more terrifying than the Hutts. I will not allow the Bando Gora to gain a foothold in the Core Worlds. Not on _my_ watch.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “Then we will help you.”

While Sheffa and Qui-Gon walked back to the other CorSec officers and the Bando Gora, Venge put a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “While we assist the lieutenant, I need you and Rillian to keep watch.”

Anakin glanced up at his Master, whose gaze was focused somewhere off to the east, where the leading edge of Tyrena’s forest and wildlife sanctuary offered plenty of cover.  Venge hadn't bothered to use illusion to hide the glow of his eyes, but then, few outside the Jedi would recognize the significance, anyway.  “You think they have friends?” Anakin asked.

“Who are watching us, yes,” Venge replied. “Strange. They seem to have no inclination towards further attack.”

Rillian’s nose scrunched up as she growled her annoyance. [Was this some sort of weird test?]

“Perhaps.” Venge rejoined the others when Sheffa gave him an impatient glance.

Anakin frowned. “It does seem really weird that out of all the available Jedi targets on Corellia, the Bando Gora picked _us_.”

[Well, we’re kind of famous. Or at least, Master Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon are,] Rillian offered, as they took turns scanning the forest and the walkway lining the river. Anakin was almost certain that he saw another glimpse of stark black and green ink on skin among the tourist crowd, but he couldn’t track them for more than a few seconds before the distinct tattoos vanished from sight.

“Maybe,” Anakin said. “But so are Master Nejaa and Master Cerulian, not to mention Knight Cillin and her sister. Then there’s the Vastra twins—”

Rillian jerked her head back around to stare at Qui-Gon and Venge. [Master’s upset. Something’s wrong.]

Anakin grabbed her hand and darted forward. It wouldn’t be obvious to a casual observer, but Anakin was pretty sure Master Qui-Gon had just been freaked out by something pretty important. Venge’s expression had darkened in a way that didn’t bode well for the survival of the Bando Gora.

“Would you be amenable to joint custody of the prisoner?” Qui-Gon was asking the CorSec lieutenant. “I’m afraid that your questioning has revealed this to be a Jedi matter, after all.”

“Given that you asked for joint custody, and didn’t just haul my prisoner away?” Sheffa had a grimly amused look on her face. “I’m game, sir Jedi. What did you find out?”

Qui-Gon hesitated. “Can you seal your reports until the matter is dealt with?”

“Oh, now I’m _really_ curious,” Sheffa smiled, but she was nodding. “I can, as long as it won’t put the Corellian system at undue risk.”

“A former Jedi is the current leader of the Bando Gora,” Qui-Gon told her in a low voice.

Anakin felt his eyebrows try to climb his forehead. A former _Jedi?_ He exchanged glances with Rillian, who rumbled thoughtfully under her breath.

 _They were definitely targeting us in particular?_ Anakin sent, half-curious if Venge would hear him. Those shields of his were at full strength to keep curious Force-sensitives at bay, but Anakin knew that his Master could filter when he chose.

_The Bando Gora’s current leader is Komari Vosa._

_I don’t remember who that is,_ Anakin replied. Rillian shrugged to show that she didn’t know, either, which also told Anakin that Venge was speaking to them both.

_Dooku’s second apprentice. The one who disappeared._

Oh. Shit. Anakin swallowed down a sudden knot of apprehension. No wonder Master Qui-Gon looked so spooked.

 _What are we going to do?_ Rillian asked, while Qui-Gon and Sheffa Solo continued their conversation with a commscreen involved, hammering out the details of joint Jedi and CorSec custody for their lone Bando Gora cultist.

 _I do not know,_ Venge admitted. _Our new friend did not use her name; it was a memory of her face that we saw, and Qui-Gon who recognized her._

Rillian was frowning. _Are we going to go look for her?_

 _I know that your Master wants to. It remains to be seen if it is_ possible _to do so. Qui-Gon wishes to contact Dooku first, to see if Vosa’s former Master will join us for further interrogation of the prisoner._

Oh, boy, Anakin thought. He didn’t like Dooku any more than Obi-Wan did, but Obi-Wan was at least capable of tolerating Dooku. Venge, however… _Are you guys sure that’s a good idea?_

 _I will not kill him,_ Venge replied.

Anakin and Rillian looked at each other. _But?_

Venge smiled in a way that made all of the hair on Anakin’s neck stand on end. _I do not have to be nice to him, either._

**Author's Note:**

> Dogmatix has been on an art frenzy regarding the Re-Entry verse.  
> Yuri Dravaco: http://dogmatix.tumblr.com/post/86283873198/concept-sketch-for-deadcatwithaflamethrower-oc  
> &  
> Raallandirr: http://dogmatix.tumblr.com/post/79332380516/rillian-shes-a-padawan-in-flamethrowers  
> &  
> Qui & Venge: http://dogmatix.tumblr.com/post/78869852579/more-art-for-flamethrowers-re-entry-journey-of  
> &  
> Skaalka: http://dogmatix.tumblr.com/post/86326489408/can-i-just-say-that-trandoshans-are-hard-to-draw
> 
> Also, if you missed it, Veveco has also been busy: http://veveco.deviantart.com/art/The-Wisdom-in-his-Eyes-451328682?q=favby%3Aflammetirar%2F40483056&qo=29 & http://veveco.deviantart.com/art/Obi-Wan-isn-t-here-right-now-428807188?q=favby%3Aflammetirar%2F40483056&qo=52 (Obi-Wan and Venge, respectively)


End file.
